The Doctor and the Sorcerer's Stone
by ChameleonArch
Summary: Blend the Doctor and Harry Potter and what do you get? A totally new story. Yay! I hope an American girl like me can rewrite two brilliant British things together.
1. Enter the DoctorHarry Potter

**This is more than a Doctor Who/Harry Potter crossover, it's a mix of the two, more like combing than crossing… but still. I liked the idea and hopefully any Doctor Who and/or Harry Potter fan will like it too. This isn't going to tell the whole story of Harry Potter because I can't hold myself back from writing the good stuff so soon, I may put in a few whole sentences taken from the book but not many as I am trying to summarize most of it. Disclaimer: until I have psychic paper or a wand I can't tell you that I own either the Doctor or Harry, although I wouldn't mind owning David Tennant, but that's totally another story. Enjoy!**

The Dursley's were the most normal, Muggle family you'd ever meet. So if you'll get off their grass, thank you very much. They kept as far from anything abnormal as you would want to keep from a man-eating crocodile, so it was rather strange that all this should happen to them. However, it did.

Mr. Dursley had left for work, perturbed slightly by the cat outside reading maps and signposts but quickly shaking it off, and Mrs. Dursley was cleaning up the mess made by Dudley's "WON'Ts!' and "NO's!" as word spread across the whole world of owls flying at day, shooting stars, and incredibly loud parties with an inconceivable amount of noise, yet hidden from the eyes of passerby so easily it was as if no one was there. Mrs. Dursley conveniently ignored the owls and strange people gathering in whispering groups on the sidewalks asDudleytowed her to the sweets shop, for the first time quiet except for when he yelled at his mum to hurry up. She had seen the tabby cat with black markings like spectacles over his eyes, but it only stared yellow-green orb eyes back at her, stern and accusing like a scolding teacher's look on a dozing pupil, and Mrs. Dursley hurried away, pretending it was absolutely normal because what else could she do?

Mr. Dursley would've had a perfectly lovely day if it hadn't been for the strange people grouped around wearing robes! Of all things, robes! From magenta to forest green, the robes and strange suits flashed out and billowed around them, starkly contrasting with the uniforms of schoolchildren running out for lunch and businessmen trying their best to keep from staring because that was simply rude. Mr. Dursley rushed back to his office, his grip tight on his pastry, and sat with his back to the window for the rest of the day, unable to keep the words they had been whispering out of his head.

"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard—"

"— yes, their son, Harry—" But surely, the name Harry was as common as the surname Potter. In fact, he wasn't even sure his nephew's name was Harry, it could've beenHarveyor Harold or some other H name. He was certain it had nothing to do with him, however. At the same moment, when Mrs. Dursley heard the name "Potter" and "Harry" in distinctly the same sentence (she was rather good at overhearing things she shouldn't with her long neck), she found herself reassuring her of that same thing. How wrong they both were.

Mrs. Dursley opened the door to reach down for the milk and touched soft, cold blankets. Puzzled, she looked down, gawped a minute, than let out a piercing shriek she quickly stifled. A small baby with a letter clutched in its tiny fist stared up at her with disarmingly serious green eyes, brown hair already poking haphazardly over his forehead. A thin scar, still pink and raw, zigzagged from his hairline to his right eyebrow, looking remarkably like a lightning bolt. Mrs. Dursley clutched her hand over her mouth for so long you'd have thought she turned to stone, but then she quickly scooped up the baby and disappeared into the house. This was not out of concern for the baby, mind you, she knew who he was and wanted nothing to do with him. This was out of concern for herself, her reputation, and her husband as well.

"This will not do," she muttered to herself as she whisked the child away, completely forgetting the milk.

Ten years later, the sun rose onDudley's birthday, and Harry Potter was woken abruptly from a dream involving a familiar giant and flying motorcycles.

"Wake up, will you?" he aunt demanded, rapping furiously on the door.

"Getting up, getting up," Harry called back, swiping his peaky brown hair from out of his eyes, his fingers brushing the familiar pale scar that stitched up one side of his forehead. Brushing a spider or two off his socks, he pulled them on and bent as he clambered out of the cupboard under the stairs. Maybe it was due to living in a cramped space, but he was pale and thin with age-old eyes that shone a serious green from behind black square-framed glasses, his undomesticated hair poking up in every which way like the scar struck his hair when it wounded him. But he was definitely tall for his age, which was odd because of his restricted quarters you would expect bad posture, but he was tall and thin as an arrow. Flexing slender, cramped fingers, Harry helped his aunt in making the breakfast for "Diddy-kin's" birthday as he smiled a small smirk to himself asDudleyhad troubles calculating how many birthday gifts.

"Thirty-seven," Harry muttered to himself. "And I actually noticed the one from Marge, thank you very much. Plus your "mummy and "daddy" are prob'ly gonna buy you another couple so you don't cry. Blimey." He shook his head at his cousin's thickness. "Coop a math genius up at the oven and this's what you get..."

"Did I hear you say something?" Mr. Dursley narrowed his eyes at Harry, mustache bristling.

"Nope, nothing," he turned, smiling brightly. "Tea, Uncle?" His uncle only grunted, staring at his odd nephew who was currently enjoying a yellow banana with his daft grin turned inwards.

"Vernon, bad news," Aunt Petunia grimaced as she covered up the phone's receiver. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg, she can't take him." With that went the kitchen's earlier ordered semblance. Over Harry's racing heartbeat, all he could hear wasDudleyfake sobbing to get Harry out of his birthday. Finally he'd be able to be by himself, maybe. For one day, maybe the Dursley's would let him stay home. He could study the TV's parts or learn to navigate and hack a computer. He'd read the books, maybe now he could do it himself…

"I could just stay home," Harry suggested hopefully.

"No way in hell," Mr. Dursley bristled even more. "We'd come home to find the house dismantled and burning."

"It was just a book," Harry muttered, though it really had been a book on home repairs, that is, home repairs after a serious accident like a flood or explosion. Harry couldn't help it if he was curious about every little thing that worked on this planet.

Much to Harry's amazement and somewhat muffled disappointment, he was stuffed in the back of the car with Dudley and his best friend, Piers Polkiss who looked somewhat like a rat, on his way to the zoo. True he wouldn't be able to fiddle around with wires and circuitry around him as he liked, but it would be better than being cooped up in Mrs. Figg's ancient house where the only electrical thing she had was a broken television set from the fifties and an egg timer. Oh, and the pervading cat smell accompanied by, of course, cats. Harry wasn't sure if he disliked cats before he met Mrs. Figg's or after, but he fairly certain it was after.

The zoo was crammed with people and Harry felt awkwardly out of place, and his fingers twitched nervously at his sides as a bout of agoraphobia washed over him. He politely refused the ice cream parlor to look at the lions that prowled about in their dens, looking as sour and skittish as Harry felt at the moment. The gorillas reminded Harry of Dudley, but not blonde, and he watched them with an amused half-smile twitching his lips, arms crossed over the bars. It wasn't until they were in the reptile room that he felt at ease, oddly at ease. The room was darkened for the animals, and Harry liked the way he couldn't really see others faces' because that meant they couldn't see his. He watched the snakes with an unattached interest, pulling his glasses down his nose to look more closely at the boa constrictor thatDudleyhad been annoying.

"Bet you're sick of that, eh?" he asked softly. The snake's soft black eyes met his, and it seemed to Harry that a look passed over its impassive face that, as the snake pointed its tail at Dudley's back and rolled its head, meant _I get that all the time._

"I know how that feels," Harry smiled slightly, kneeling down to level his face with the snake. "People rapping and tapping outside your door, doesn't it drive you mad?" The snake only smirked as if saying Harry had no idea. "You came fromBrazil, right?" The snake made a sort of shrug with its coiled body. "Well, technically fromBrazil. Well, born here, but, you know, ancestry and all that." The snake nodded. "Still, I bet it'd be nice to go…" Harry grunted asDudleyshoved him from the window, Piers shout to see the snake had brought him running. Harry's glasses skewed off his face and clattered on the floor. He grabbed them, hastily pulling them on to see, with delighted shock, Piers and Dudley scream in fear as the glass vanished and the snake, perking slightly, swept from the exhibit and passed Harry with a smile and a wink.

_"Thanks, mate, Brazil, here I come!"_ it hissed as it slithered quickly from the shrieking tourists. Harry, stunned at the snake's voice, was yanked up by his uncle and they quickly left the zoo.

Harry was very aware of the door slamming as he curled up on his bed, unable to fully stretch out. Thinking back on the events that had passed, Harry insisted to himself he had only imagined the snake's voice, and switched his mind to other topics as his hands tinkered in the dark with a broken clock ofDudley's. As usual, the topic of his parents was brought into his head and his hand tightened on the screwdriver in his right fist as the green flash echoed through his mind. That could not have come from the car crash that his aunt and uncle had told him his parents had died in, unless they crashed into a toxic waste pit, which was highly unlikely. And his scar, how could metal have done it so perfectly that it looked like it did, and not have done worse to his face than that? No, a car crash was not logical, not possible, like that. So how had they died and why were the Dursley's lying? Harry thought on the other strange things that had happened in his life, strangers knowing him, shaking his hand and bowing. Bowing, of all things! He felt so uncomfortable when Aunt Petunia had rushed him out of the market when a strange had taken off his hat and bowed to him. Bowed!


	2. Heeeere's Hagrid!

**This is where I just have to speed everything up a bit, mix about the plot a little. I cannot write all that happens between the letter and Hagrid's first appearance. I'll also be using Hagrid's original script with bits taken out and bits of my own lines (see if you can find mine without looking in the book! It's really easy, they're the crappiest written *smiley face*), so many of the other characters will be saying the same things as in the book. It'd take too long to do the whole story though, sorry. Disclaimer: If I owned Doctor who, it would still be Tennant and Rose and they would be making out in every episode. If I owned Harry Potter, Cho would've been his girlfriend/wife. Not that I don't like Ginny, but I always felt bad for Cho and I thought she deserved more of a chance. So, no, I don't own either.**

When Harry was finally allowed out of the cupboard, summer holidays had started and Harry felt he needed a chiropractor. He wandered around the outdoors, avoiding Dudley and his gang of thuggish morons that loved to torture him, and waiting for summer to end so he could avoid Dudley even better as they were going to separate schools. With a sigh, Harry ran a hand through his hair, causing the flexible protein strands to stand up straight on end, poking straight up into the air above his forehead. Then he mussed it about more so that the jagged spike sprouted out all over and basically made him look like a lightning-struck victim. He grinned suddenly at the way he must look and started home to seeDudleyclad in Smeltings' colours and nearly burst out laughing at his orange knickers and maroon blazer tailcoats matched with a straw boater hat. Clapping a hand over his mouth to keep the laugh from coming out, Harry pretended he was choking and retreated to his cupboard to muffle the laughter threatening to bubble out of his chest.

Harry was poking his food about his plate, completely sick at the smell of clothing dye that permeated the whole house and thus not hungry, when Uncle Vernon ordered him to get the mail. Receding from the kitchen, Harry grabbed at the mail and flicked through it easily, staring at one letter in particular. The letter was addressed in emerald ink:

Mr. H. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

He quickly slid the letter down his shirt to conceal it and handed over the other letters with a false smile, returning to his banana so he could finish it quickly and read his letter in private. He was certain his uncle would never allow whatever was in the letter because it was strange. And Uncle Vernon hated strangeness as much as Aunt Petunia.

Returning to his cupboard, heart fluttering in his chest, Harry ripped open the letter and his mouth dropped open as the first words met his eyes.

_HOGWARTS__ SCHOOL_

_ Of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

**Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore **_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., of Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

_Deputy Headmistress_

"Well," Harry stared at the letter in open astonishment, not knowing what to think. None of Dudley's friends or he himself could compose such an elaborate joke, and the Dursley's had very little sense of humour, so little it was practically nonexistent unlessDudleywas beating up Harry or Harry was in someway punished. Another paper fell out of the envelope that he left on the bed. Crawling from his bed and standing with a stretch outside the cupboard door, Harry brought it back to the table, laying it smoothly on the surface.

"There something you want to tell me, Uncle?" Harry asked smoothly, decidingVernoncould either chuck it out as junk mail or send him back to his cupboard after an extremely loud lecture. Instead, Uncle Vernon just gawped, flushed, paled, and looked sick in a span of five seconds.

"Give me that, boy," he finally growled, snatching the letter and, taking Petunia by the arm, went to the dining room. Furious yet terrified, Harry thought were his uncle's expressions, and Aunt Petunia didn't look too healthy when she saw the letter either.

"Vernon!" she gasped, pale and weakened as the door slammed shut behind them.

"What'd you do?" Dudley narrowed his piggish eyes at Harry, who only shrugged and went to listen at the door's keyhole beforeDudleyshoved him away. Glasses hanging precariously off his ear, Harry laid flat, ear by the crack between the door and floor.

"How could they know where he sleeps?" Aunt Petunia hissed. "Are they watching us? What should we do? Tell them we don't want—"

"No," Uncle Vernon interrupted with a near-shout, but he held it in slightly, as if not to let the boys know what they were talking about. Harry was getting progressively annoyed that they weren't saying who 'they' were, this McGonagall or Dumbledore? "If they don't get an answer they'll give it up. We said we wouldn't let it happen and we won't."

But Uncle Vernon wasn't expecting the front door to be blasted off its hinges, nor for said explosion to be followed by the largest man Harry had ever seen, not just in weight but in height as well. His body filled the doorway and then some as he squeezed through the tight entrance. His black beetle-like eyes glittered out among a bush of wiry black hair that spilled around his head and down his chin in a wildest beard Harry had ever seen. Harry stood from the floor, fixing his glasses on his face and trying hard not to stare.

"You mus' be Harry," his voice was a lowered, gruff growl but very friendly sounding. "Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby. Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yer mum's eyes." The door to the dining room flew open and Uncle Vernon stomped out.

"You bloody better…" his rant ended in a squeaky gasp that Harry found amusing, but he quickly found his voice again, if it lilted a bit higher than normal. "I demand that you leave this house at once! You are breaking and entering!"

"Ah shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune," the giant dismissed him, coming further into the house and, turning to reset the door on its hinges, flourished a pink umbrella at the door so that it reset itself. "Anyway – Harry," the giant turned to Harry, "a very happy birthday to yeh – well, early birthday – Got summat fer yeh here – I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right." Reaching deep in his black overcoat, he pulled out a dented, battered box. Harry took it curiously, opening it to find, to his joy, a large yellow cake with his name written in green icing. Taking a taste of the frosting, he found it to be banana flavored and grinned as the sticky glazing slid down his throat.

He meant to say thank you, but what came out instead was, "Who are you?"

The giant man chuckled, "True, I haven't introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts." He shook Harry's hand with a glint of humour in his eyes. "So, how about some tea then, eh?" he rubbed his hands together and went into the kitchen. "I'd not say no ter summat stronger if yeh've got it, mind." The Dursley's were frozen for a while, hardly believing what was happening, but Harry followed Hagrid with keen interest, still neatly pinching up cake then sucking clean his slender fingers before setting the cake box on the table and helping Hagrid find tea supplies. Harry started the fire and got the kettle, filling it with water to boil and took the tea bags from the cupboard.

"Ah, not tha' stuff, mate," Hagrid frowned on the tea bags and he pulled out drink of his own, amber liquid shining behind thick glass. Harry only shrugged and continued making the rather cheap tea because he had a feeling someone would want it, if not Hagrid.

"I'm sorry," Harry paused, setting his mug down on the table as he drew up a chair, thankful Hagrid did not sit down because he wasn't sure a chair could hold just a giant man. "But I still don't really know who you are. Pardon me, but, um, you don't look… normal… am I being rude?"

"Nah," Hagrid chuckled. "S'alright, call me Hagrid. Everyone does, an' like I told yeh, I'm the Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts – yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o'course…"

"Er, not as such, no," Harry eyed the giant worriedly and saw his eyes flash. "Sorry…"

"Sorry?" Hagrid turned on the Dursley's, disbelieving. "It's them as should be sorry! I knew yeh weren't getting yer letters…"

"What letters?" Harry whispered to himself, quietly. He hadn't been aware of any letters before this one.

"…but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learned it all?"

"All what?" Harry was feeling stupider by the minute.

"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid bellowed. "Now wait jus' one second!' His presence filled the whole room. Harry, knowing this anger wasn't directed at him, idly wondered how the neighbors weren't hearing this. Surely their nosiest neighbors would be poking through the window to gawp and stare at this huge man? "Do you mean ter tell me that this boy don't know abou' ANYTHING?" Harry felt stung slightly.

"Oi!" he cried. "I know stuff! I could take a computer apart and repair it if you wanted…" But Hagrid was ignoring him to glower on the cowering Dursleys.

"About our world? Yer world, my world, yer parents' world!"

"What?" If Harry hadn't had gotten the letter, and this man hadn't been making sense in a strangely nonsensical way, he would've thought Hagrid mad.

"DURSLEY!" he thundered furiously. Uncle Vernon only cowered, shook, and made a squeaky mouse-sound. "But yeh mus' know about yer mum and dad," he croaked, finally calming slightly, but only that sort of calm before a storm, the calm that goes with desperation. "I mean, they're famous. Yer famous."

"What?" Harry's eyebrows came closer in confusion.

"Yeh don' know…" Hagrid collapsed on the chair that wobbled below him, straining to hold him. He stood as it creaked loudly, shuddered, and nearly fell apart. "Yeh don' know…? Yeh don' know what yeh are?" Uncle Vernon had found his voice again.

"Stop! I forbid you to tell him..." Uncle Vernon fixed his eye on Harry to keep a shaky one off Hagrid, who didn't seem pleased at all with the Dursleys.

"What does the letter mean?" Harry asked, ignoringVernonwith a cock of his right eyebrow. "That they await my owl?"

"Gallopin' Gorgons, that reminds me," Hagrid cried, pulling a small ruffled owl from another pocket of his coat as well as a large quill big enough to fit his hand and a scrap of parchment. He quickly scribbled a note that Harry read upside down.

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

Given Harry his letter. Taking him to buy his things tomorrow. Weather's horrible. Hope you're well.

Hagrid

Rolling up the note, Hagrid handed over the note to the owl, who clamped it tightly in its beak and flew out the open window. Harry was watching with wide eyes and eager wanting to know how the owl knew where to take it to, probably trained to take it to a specific place, but Harry had a feeling the owl was smarter than most.

"Where was I?" Hagrid mumbled, Uncle Vernon still glaring at him, ashy face.

"He's not going," Harry resisted the urge to shout at Uncle Vernon that he didn't, and couldn't, control his life.

"I'd like ter see a great Muggle like you stop 'im," Hagrid grunted, not even bothering to be angry, more like amused.

"Is a Muggle a normal person?" Harry asked curiously, always eager to learn new words.

"It's what we call non-magic folk like them," Hagrid nodded. "An' it's your bad luck you grew up in a family o' the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on."

"We swore when we took him in we'd put a stop to that rubbish,"Vernonspluttered. "Stamp it out of him, wizard indeed!"

"You knew?" Harry turned on them, disbelieving. "You knew I'm a wizard?" The words felt alien in his mouth.

"Knew!" Aunt Petunia laughed harshly. "With my dratted sister and her freakish husband, what else could you be? They were both abnormal freaks! And then she went and got herself blown up and we got stuck with you!"

"Blown up?" Harry whispered, remembering the green flash he saw in the "car crash". "You said they died in a car crash!"

"CAR CRASH!" Hagrid roared, suddenly enflamed. "How could a car crash kill Lily an' James Potter? It's an outrage, a scandal! Harry Potter not knowin' his own story when every kid in our world knows his name!"

"Why? What happened?" Harry asked anxiously, wondering if he wanted to know. Hagrid looked worried, miserable, and still a touch angry. And then he explained and Harry saw why.

"So Vol-, sorry, You-Know-Who, he killed my parents?" Harry asked quietly, a ringing cold shriek of laughter ripping through his mind along with the green flash now.

"Yeah," Hagrid was still wiping his eyes with a spotty handkerchief. "Took yeh from the ruined house meself, on Dumbledore's orders. Brought yeh ter this lot…"

"Loads of old tosh," Uncle Vernon replied nastily. Harry took cold eyes on him. "Now you listen, boy,"Vernonsnarled at him. "I accept there's something strange about you, probably nothing a good beating wouldn't have cured – and as for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdoes, no denying it, and the world's better off without them in my opinion. Asked for all they got, getting mixed up with these wizarding types… just what I expected, always knew they'd come to a sticky end…" Hagrid's eyes were a blaze as he leapt up from the creaking chair that gave up and collapsed as soon as he left it.

"I'm warning yeh, Dursley, I'm warning you," he threatened, pointing a battered pink umbrella atVernonlike a sword. Harry tried hard not to laugh, especially when the tip glowed a bright yellow. ButVernonwasn't scared by the umbrella, more the man and the unsaid threat that hung darkly above both of them. Harry was silent, still figuring out things.

"So is Vold- I mean, You-Know-Who dead or alive?" He finally asked.

"No one knows," Hagrid took his eyes offVernonand stepped back to face Harry. "Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he's still out there, bidin' his time, like, but I don' believe it. People who was on his side came back ter ours. Some of 'em came outta kinda trances. Don' reckon they could've done if he was comin' back." Harry was fixed with a fond yet firm look from Hagrid. "But there was somethin' about you that finished him, Harry. Dunno what it was, but you stumped him." Harry didn't feel deserving of the respect in Hagrid's word and eye and glanced at the tiled floor.

"I don't think I'm a wizard, Hagrid," he confessed. "I don't think I can be one."

"Not a wizard, eh? Never made things happen when you were scared or angry?" Hagrid chuckled softly. Harry thought of all that had happened to him, his hair growing back from shaved to springy in one night, the glass disappearing at the zoo, the snake talking to him, turning his teacher's wig blue when he failed an unfair test… A slow grin curled on Harry's face as he looked back up at Hagrid who smiled back.

"See?" Hagrid asked, proudly almost. "Harry Potter, not a wizard – you wait, you'll be right famous at Hogwarts."


	3. Gringotts and A Whole Lot of Shopping

**Again, skipping some stuff. I'm gonna go straight to Diagon Alley, cuz I'm sick of writing the whole thing out. Sorry, but I can't rewrite the whole thing and not throw up after rereading Harry Potter for the billionth time. I liked Harry Potter, but not that much. Also, I changed the house names, have fun reading! Disclaimer: "Does it need saying?" References, references… 10 bonus points to whatever few reviewers I may have who can name the character who said that, in what episode, series, or TV show. The bonus points mean you can now buy… nothing, sorry, I got nothing. Give yourself a hug, I guess, for being right.**

The pub Hagrid led Harry to, was a small, dark place tucked away between a records shop and a book store.

"This is famous?" Harry muttered to himself as he followed Hagrid.

"The usual, Hagrid?" a shrivel-faced man squinted at Hagrid with a gaping smile missing more than a couple teeth.

"Can't, Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," Hagrid clapped Harry on the shoulder with one large hand, causing Harry's knees to buckle slightly.

"Good Lord," the bartender whispered, eyes wide at Harry, "is this… can this be…?"

"Harry Potter, sir," Harry said nervously, eyes twitching about the pub and its silent occupants. Before he knew it, he was swamped by them, shaking more hands and meeting more people that he thought possible. It took ten minutes for Hagrid to extricate him from the crowd so they could shop, but a shaky young man with an eye-tic took his hand and shook it nervously to shake.

"P-P-Potter, c-c-can't t-tell you how p-pleased I am to m-meet you… I'm P-P-Professor Q-Quirrel…"

"What do you teach, sir?" Harry asked interestedly, noting the strangely terrified-sounding stammer.

"D-Defense against the D-D-Dark Arts," muttered Quirrel, looking scared of his own subject. "N-Not that you'll n-need it, eh, P-Potter?" He twitched a small smile.

"C'mon, Harry, gotta getcher books, but money from Gringotts firs'," Hagrid prodded him on the back through the bar to the small, walled courtyard in the back. Hagrid took out his umbrella and aimed it at a couple of bricks, muttering to himself as a gentle yellow light shone once more form the end of the umbrella. Harry watched, awed, as the bricks slid away to reveal a wide street, shops lining the walkways and sidewalks. People in robes and with owls on their shoulders, carrying bags and cages of strange animals, walked around. Boys crowded outside one window, calling about a broom in ecstatic tones.

Harry soon stood before the huge white marble bank that excelled all the others in size. A small creature in gold and red uniform stood at guard with a weathered, clever face and a pointed beard. His fingers and feet jutted lengthily from cuffs that tightened around his wrists. Harry tried not to stare, diverting his attention to the words carved upon the second set of doors they enter.

Enter stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn

So if you seek beneath our floor

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

Harry's interest was instantly piqued, and he quickly followed Hagrid into the bank. A goblin met them, taking Harry's key to another goblin called Griphook, and Hagrid told them to also go to Vault 713 to pick up something for Dumbledore. Before he knew it, they were rushing down a steep, dark hill in what looked like a mine cart with no controls. Wind blowing his spiky hair up, he was certain it would be stuck like that for the rest of the day, and he eagerly looked around for the dangers that the riddle had warned him of, catching a glimpse of fire. Harry hoped it was a dragon, but Hagrid pulled him back into the cart before he could lean out more to see.

"Don' make me tie a rope to your waist," Hagrid looked sickly green as Harry turned to ask him a question. "It's best if I keep me mouth shut, Harry." Harry hurriedly shut his mouth and only stared at the vault they'd stopped at. Griphook put the key in the lock and opened it. The light of the nearby torches reflected off the stacks of gold, silver and bronze coin. They simply covered the floor from corner to corner and collected in simply massive heaps. Harry took a moment to stare, than quickly filled his bag with the gold change (Galleons), silver coins (Sickles), and a handful of bronze ones (Knuts). Vault 713 held no such treasure, all Harry could see was tiny, grubby little package Hagrid hurried swept up and stuffed it away in one of his many pockets. Another dizzying ride later, Harry was back above ground and wondering what to buy first.

"Migh' as well get yer uniform firs'," Hagrid nodded to a shop called Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Lis'en, Harry, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts…" Harry assured him he'd be fine, Hagrid only gave him a slightly amused/slightly uncertain look as Harry trotted easily up to the shop.

"Hogwarts dear?" a mauve-robed witch, squat and cheerful, smiled at him. He only nodded. "Got the lot here, another young man being fitted up just now, in fact." Harry saw a long trench coat in the corner that interested him and asked about it. "Ah, my favorite," she smiled fondly at it. "A form fitting mole-skin that'll grow along with its owner, very nice, do you like it, young man?" Harry smiled and nodded.

"Thank you," he slipped it on and it easily accommodated his rather lanky body.

"Oh it was made for you," Madame Malkin's eyes glittered. "Pun intended. Now, your proper robes, or suits, which do you prefer?"

"I like suits," Harry looked at the robes with a dismayed tone. "Robes are… rather, well, girlish, don't you think? And I like brown, brown's a nice colour.""

"Brown is definitely your colour," Madame Malkin smiled kindly. "I'll go get a few examples to show you..." Harry picked a pinstriped brown suit and a rust-red-striped blue suit, plus a half a dozen or so shirts of colors ranging from maroon to white to wear under them, as well as a black, red, and blue tie. Another boy with a pale, pointed face stood on a footstool, a witch magicking the clothes on him.

"Hello," the boy said. "Hogwarts too?"

"Yup," Harry popped the 'p'.

"My father's next door buying my books, and my mother's up the streets looking at the sonic wands," the boy drawled in a bored tone. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully Father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow." Harry didn't want to be rude but couldn't help but stare in disbelief at the boy. The way he said such things… had he no ethics at all? That'd he actually drag his parents somewhere or smuggle in a broom? Breaking rules and dishonoring his parents? Had he no shame at all about that?

"Have you got your own broom?" the other boy asked suddenly.

"No," Harry shook his head, careful of the needles.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"Ah, no," Harry wondered what on earth could Quidditch be.

"I do, Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree," _You would,_ Harry thought to himself. "Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No," Harry watched the needles and pins carefully.

"Well, no one really know until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slitheen. All our family have been, imagine being in Human, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"I dunno…" Harry really didn't care too much, but he did wish he knew more about Hogwarts so he could reply cleverly.

"I say, look at that man!" the boy sniggered at the character Hagrid made outside the window as he held two large, dripping ice creams.

"That's Hagrid," Harry was pleased to know something this boy didn't. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh, I've heard of him," the boy dismissed. "He's the servant, right?"

"Gamekeeper, actually," Harry glanced at the boy with hidden annoyance.

"Yes, exactly, some sort of drunken savage that sets his bed alight when he tries to do magic…"

"I think he's brilliant," Harry straightened slightly, wishing the needles would prod this boy.

"Do you?" the boy laughed nasally. "Why is he with you? Where're you parents?"

"They're dead," Harry tried to come off casual but the mere mention of their death made him feel even colder to this boy, who obviously would never understand the feeling he had right now.

"Oh, sorry," the boy disregarded it completely, not even sounding apologetic. "But they were our kind, witch and wizard, right?"

"Yeah,"

"They shouldn't let in any others, I don't think, none but the pureblood families…"

"That's you done, dearie," Madame Malkin saved him from punching the boy in the face. He got off the stool gladly and left.

"See you at Hogwarts then," the boy drawled once more. Harry bit back a _I hope not _and exited the shop to eat the ice cream Hagrid had bought him and listened to Hagrid explain more about the wizarding world


	4. RosieRose But Only At the End

**Skipping Again!*sing-song voice* Yeah, so, skipping straight at Ollivander's. Not that much of a difference, but, as I've said, can't write everything. Personally this is one of my favorite chapters, so I hope I do it justice. I've changed it a bit to make it more Doctor Who-ish and added my own Harry Potter facts, hope you like it! Disclaimer: Abraca-Harry-Potter-and-Doctor-Who-Belongs-To-Me, I don't think. Firstly, JK would kill me if I stole it from her, and I wouldn't be stealing Doctor Who, I'd be stealing David Tennant as well as the whole wardrobe and the TARDIS. So yeah, enjoy!**

The sonic wand shop proclaimed its name is peeling gold letters: Ollivander's – Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. Harry opened the door to a tinkling bell, the silence of the library-like store deafening. His new snowy owl that Hagrid bought him for his birthday hooted softly, pulled her head from under her wing to look around sleepily before going back to sleep. The wands were long metal things that ranged in sizes and lengths, as well as shape. But Harry's eyes were caught on the man at the front, slowly coming forward.

"Ah, young Harry Potter," Ollivander smiled, tapping long, skeletal fingers together that put Harry's own slender ones to shame. "I thought I'd be seeing you soon." He glanced up at Hagrid with a smile. "Good to see you too, Hagrid." And then he went straight to the task of finding Harry a wand. Harry didn't feel right about any of them and automatically resisted any that resembled a gun.

"What about that one?" he pointed to a slender silver one with a dulled blue end. It looked far less fancy than all the others, and more like a screwdriver than a wand, but he liked its simplicity.

"Ah, this one is a special one, sir," Ollivander picked it up gently and gave it to Harry. Instantly, Harry's hand felt warm gripped on the sonic screwdriver and it shone a cheerful blue. "Strange that this one should be yours, when its' brother of the same metal and sonic wavelength put that scar on your forehead." Harry only looked at Ollivander with a crooked grin, a mad one some would say.

"I like it," and that was that.

When they were finished shopping, Hagrid bought Harry lunch, gave him his ticket, and they left back to the Dursley's where Harry had to wait out a whole awkward month of Dudleyavoiding him and everyone's silence. Harry liked it at first, but then the silence unnerved him and he started talking just to fill the space. When that didn't work, he went silent again, and waited impatiently for September 1st to come. The last day of August – Harry had been putting it off for a while as he didn't really want to talk to Uncle Vernon – Harry asked him if he could drop Harry off at King's Cross Station the next day. Harry was conveniently ignoring the fact that the ticket had said nine and three-quarters station, which made no sense, but Harry liked the impossible. He liked this very much and figured he'd find out when he got there. Maybe it would be something involving his sonic screwdriver, he refused to call it a wand because it simply wasn't one, and he would aim it at the floor or wall or something to spread apart the bricks.

The next day, Harry's heart leaping in his chest, he packed his trunk hurriedly away in the car as Aunt Petunia convincedDudleyit was alright to sit next to as close to the door as possible anyways, and Harry grinned at this.

"So. All their magic carpets got punctures or something?" Uncle Vernon asked Harry gruffly as they drove to the station. "Using trains…"

"Oh, no, I was reading last night, the magic carpet act of 1949 declared that magic carpets were too obviously magical to be allowed and…" Harry began brightly.

"Alright that's bloody enough!" Uncle Vernon barked, than quieted again, as if Harry had already figured out how to stun him, but Harry only played with his sonic screwdriver and smiled blithely to himself. As he did this, his eyes were fixed on the carpet; eyes that were slowly darkening as he remembered his parents death, and how it tied in with his screwdriver. How could something that felt so good and right in his hand have such similarities to the one that killed his family?

Minutes later, the Dursleys left Harry at the station and Harry quickly strode up to the wall between nine and ten.

"Logically, this should be it," he pressed a hand against it and saw with a surprised grin that it sank in through the wall. Quickly pulling his arm from the wall, he slipped in with his cart and Hedwig, his newly christened owl. He was met with them most beautiful sight he'd seen since Diagon Alley, the sight of a scarlet and gold train whistling into the station, billows of steam hissing from its wheels. He looked up at a battered sign that read "Hogwarts' Express", and continued onto the train, struggling slightly with his heavy bags. He was very aware of his noisy surroundings, but was far more interested in getting on the train to see what one looked like on the inside. Putting Hedwig in the empty compartment near the end of the train, Harry tried to lift his trunk up, but the trunk weighed double his size and he nearly collapsed trying to get it up.

"Need a hand?" a red-haired boy a couple years older than Harry asked cheerfully.

"Yeah, thanks,"

"Oi! Fred! C'mere and help!" He gestured to a boy his exact duplicate to come over quickly and they all managed to heave the trunk up into the compartment.

"Thanks," Harry grinned, sliding his fingers through his hair to spike it again.

"Is that," one twin gawked, than quickly shut his mouth.

"Are you…" the other looked astounded, excited, but astounded.

"Hi, I'm Harry Potter," Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing at the twins' look of awe.

"Fred! George! Are you there?"

"Coming, Mum!" they called back, glancing once more at Harry before turning away. Harry collapsed in a seat near the window, watching the red-headed family curiously.

"Ron, you've got something on your nose," the mother of yet another red-headed boy, the youngest of the lot, tried to clean his face, but he wriggled away, retreating to the train. Harry's limited span of attention wandered until he was eventually wondering why they had a train that ran on steam when they could just use a perpetual _locomotus_ spell that was relatively simple as long as one…

"Anyone sitting there?" the red-headed boy, Ron Harry surmised, pointed to the seat opposite Harry. "Everywhere else it full…" Harry shook his head, still deep in thought.

"Hey Ron," the twins were back and Harry couldn't help but smile slightly at their glances that kept going back to him. "We're gonna go see Lee's giant tarantula, you wanna see?" Harry noticed the blush of fear that crept onto Ron's face and the teasingly cruel inside-joke this family shared.

"N-no thanks," Ron shook his head adamantly.

"Harry," the twins looked at him dead on, joking smiles still on. "Did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. See you later, then."

Harry nodded absently and smiled a little back.

"Are you really Harry Potter?" Ron asked him as the twins left. Feeling like he'd been doing an awful lot of nodding recently, Harry nodded once more.

"See, I thought it was one of Fred and George's jokes," Ron explained. "Have you really got… that is…" His hand went instinctively to his forehead, then just as quickly, fell down in his lap. Harry ran his hand through his hair again to show the scar off.

"Yeah," he said his first word in a while. Ten minutes was a long time for him to be quiet, after all. The next hour or so it took to get to Hogwarts was filled with Ron explaining Harry as much as he could about the wizarding world, and Harry was tenaciously grabbing on to each detail to ram into his memory. They ate chocolate frogs and Harry marveled at the moving pictures in the cards, taking the next bit of the trip to study them and find out what magic exactly was used to do this. Ten minutes later, Harry had his back on the seat and his feet on the wall his hair screwed up so bad it was like he had been in a squall line with a long metal pole.

"Picturae moventis," Harry declared after a couple of minutes, excitedly getting his sonic screwdriver out. "That's the spell that should do it… you got any nonmoving pictures, Ron?" Ron didn't, but Harry could draw, so he quickly scribbled down a picture of a cat on a torn parchment with a pencil (he wasn't quite used to quills yet). Aiming his screwdriver at the picture, he repeated the spell. The picture held a blue glow on it from the screwdriver for a second, and then it wavered and wobbled for a minute. When the cat meowed, Harry grinned knowing he'd gotten it right.

"Wh-what b-b-b-but that's…" Ron stuttered. "That's way past first year stuff!"

"I should hold myself back, I suppose," Harry frowned, staring at the cat, which was presently rubbing his furry body on the confines of his picture, than leapt through the wall of it and disappeared. Then the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen stepped into their compartment and smiled, her tongue flickering out between her teeth.

"Hello, has anyone seen a toad?" she asked politely, brushing aside a blonde chunk of hair out of her large, dark brown eyes. "Neville's lost one." Harry swallowed slightly thickly. "I'm Hermione, by the way, Hermione Rose Granger."

**And yes, I know Hermione's middle name is Jean. I just prefer the name Rose.**


End file.
